This is it.

I recently found this little gem when I was making an art book for a friend. (Sadly, I don't remember where it's from.)

Life?
Sometimes it moves quick.
So react. Now.
Now is for living.
Just live.
Get out into the thick of it.
Roll down your windows.
Listen to it.
Make some noise. Be part of it.
Put your hands in it - Deep.
Break it open. Drink it up.
Run with it until your legs give up and you can't move or breathe or shout.
Chase it down a city street.
Swim in it.
Race it to the edges of the earth. Let it win.
Make it happen.
Give it away.
(This is it.)

Bacon and domesticity.

We crafted all afternoon, my little sisters and I. We drew, we colored, we made collages. I like taking songs or poems or phrases and turning them into something visual - something colorful. I cut triangles out of a hundred different colors of paper in magazines and newspapers and pasted them together to make an exotic bird sporting a condescending expression. I learned today that I enjoy making pointless art. I like making art that exists for no reason but to be itself. I read today that animals howl to declare their existence. That's what my art does, I think.

All afternoon I made art that howls. Paper birds declaring their existence.

We only took one break, to make BLTs. Wheat toast, sliced tomatoes, fresh lettuce, and bacon. I like BLTs because they're bacon disguised as sandwiches. If we just sat around making art and eating bacon, my mom would probably protest. But if we're sitting around making art and eating BLTs, my mom can say "Oh, I'm glad you got some lunch. Isn't that lettuce great?"

I sat there planning out my paper bird and eating my incognito sandwich and thought: "Huh, there is so much grace in this afternoon." And there was. One of my favorite Hillsdale professors, Dr. Schlueter, said in a stand-alone lecture that domesticity is grace manifested in daily living. Chores. Slow afternoons. Paper art. And bacon sandwiches.

Now I think that I will go make myself another mug of hot chocolate with nutmeg and cinnamon. And maybe make a paper elephant.

Songbird.

We’re walking on a thin string
But I know the Lord's got the whole thing in his hands
We’re strangers in this land
But together we could make our way home
Make our way home

.:Josh Garrels:.

Bon Iver and La Blogotheque.

I've been exploring La Blogothque (blogotheque.com), a collection of take-away shows with some very unique musical artists. I like musicians who never play a song the same way twice. On this site there's a video of Bon Iver playing "Lump Sum" on a toy piano and melodica in an empty apartment in Paris. Life doesn't get any better than that. Or this: "Do you like Bon Iver?" is my primary question to a determine whether or not a person and I are soul mates. I would marry a man with the emotional maturity of Justin Vernon. One day in the spring of my junior year my sister brought me home his album: For Emma Forever Ago by Bon Iver. In my opinion, For Emma is the greatest album of all time. Of all time. Some artists slap together a dozen singles and call it an album when it's really just a means to a paycheck and an excuse for a photoshoot. Harsh, yes, but true. Bon Iver, on the other hand, was just a lucky mistake. Justin Vernon got dumped and escaped to a farmhouse in Wisconsin. He came back with this album. It's perfect because it's one man singing out loud about his brokenness. I'm going on 2 years with this album, and we're going strong. If you haven't heard it yet, do it. If you haven't learned to love it yet, get going. (And check out the EP: "Blood Bank." And the singles: "Winsconsin" and "Roslyn.")

I ache to see Bon Iver in concert.

Portland, Michelle Ramin, Beat Kitchen, Manifest.

The more time I spend on my tiny college campus, the more obsessed I become with big cities. I dream about public transportation. I talk about light pollution in Chicago as though it's a friend of mine. I. love. cities.

Lately I've been particularly excited about Portland, Oregon and the talented artists who live there. I've never actually been there, but I have a little collection of maps and things from Portland that my dad brings back for me when he visits. One of my current favorite Portland artists is Michelle Ramin (www.michelleramin.com). I love her art. Art like this: More about art&cities:
Beat Kitchen (www.beatkitchen.com) is my favorite music venue in Chicago. It's classy, it's affordable, it's eclectic, it has delicious portabella mushroom sandwiches, and it does a stellar job showcasing native bands. I'm going to a show in January and I.can't.wait.

Oh! One more thing. Manifest, a sweet urban arts festival that Columbia College students create, has announced its designer for 2010: Landry Miller. Is it condescending to say his art is "cute"? Because it is: Hopefully I'll get back in time from my friend's wedding to see what else Miller comes up with!

Lessons from my 1st semester.

-pray without ceasing.
-use saturdays wisely.
-organize & condense notes from the very beginning of the semester.
-nothing in the dessert corner of SAGA is worth the calories. promise.
-work out regularly.
-never drink 9 cups of coffee in one sitting.
-call your mom.
-admit it when you’re stressed.
-3AM discussions about grace are always worth the lack of sleep.
-seek community even at your rawest, guiltiest, sleepiest, & least sure of yourself.
-don’t lose sleep over anything that’s outside your responsibility.
-trust that God is working out the details of your redemption.
-look for grace.
-live in a way that others see it too.

Give thanks for the common things that glow with an uncommon grace.

Life continues to be: White paper stars and star-shaped Christmas cookies that make up for the starless polluted skies of Chicago. Piles of half-folded blankets scattered around my house (cuddle kiosks!). Five sheets of paper on my desk entitled 'CRAFT IDEAS' I, II, III, IV, and V. The sweet, sweet sound of Seth Avett playing banjo. Marathon conversations with Roshini over coffee and hot chocolate. Snuggling with my golden retriever puppy.

In other news, is it possible to already miss friends from college? Because I already miss Mary, Shannon, Bond, Eric, Travis, Jack, and Ben and my roommate. I miss late-night talks in Upper Left, and long sessions of hand-holding and prayer, and laughing constantly. I am so blessed by my friends at school. I'm especially blessed by the presence of these dearest eight.

I've been obsessed to the point of distraction with expressing all this grace given to me in as many ways as I possibly can. I make art, I make music, I write, I talk (a lot), I pray, but I still get the itchy feeling that I'm not expressing enough. When and only when I get to the point where even my heartbeat tells the story of the Gospel will I be satisfied.

And life itself is grace.

Call me naive, but I honestly did not realize how tough these last two weeks of the semester would be. Hillsdale students are really awful about being overly competitive. We compete about grades, extracurricular activities, sports teams, dorm reputations, and who did a better job eating healthy at Saga. Lately we compete about even more trivial things: who got less sleep, who has more papers, who is more frustrated, who is more stressed.

Enough.

A decade from now, if we're wise in any way, all 1300 of us will look back at college and miss the heck out of it. Knowing this, I've made it a point to live now with the perspective that I'll have then. For example:

I like writing papers. I really do. I like creating and supporting an argument. I like picking apart each sentence and pummeling it into what I want to say. I like finding the right word, not just the best one. I like the precision of editing. I like editing other people's papers. I like seeing how other people think. I like reading Jack's papers and Eric's papers only to find funny little overemotional phrases that I'd never expect them to use (like "incessant beacon of immortal glory"). I like using my favorite (ORANGE) pen and covering the entire page in question marks and word choice suggestions. I like printing off finished papers.

I like winter. I have never SEEN winter like this. The snow is clean; completely free from all the black dirt of Chicagoland traffic. It's powdery instead of slushy. It actually covers the grass. It blows across the sidewalks in little drifts. I like seeing all the bootprints of my friends and fellow students. I like wearing mittens and holding hands. I like running to the fireplace in the Union to warm up before meals. I like Jack's candy cane scarf. I like how, every night, girls in Olds walk around wearing leggings, knee socks, oversized sweaters, and scarves.

I like how cozy my room is. I like it when Bond and Megan and Mary and Claire and Shannon and Autumn and Celia flit in and out, doing homework, telling stories, asking for colorful mugs filled with coffee. I like how Megan thought that I'm an RA in Olds because of the "liberties that I've taken with my Christmas decorations." I like bringing my coma blanket with me everywhere and cuddling up in it while I study.

I like school. I like learning. I like being wrong sometimes. I like investing in people. I like running all over campus to find my roommate in order to read Isaiah 43 to her. I like running up the hill at midnight just to bring Mary a piece of chocolate to encourage her to keep working on homework. I like passing off notes to Jack on the walk from calculus to western heritage. I like cracking up with Eric in English. I like studying. I like striving for academic excellence.

So, Hillsdale College, I'm not going to complain. I'm foiling your plan to discourage us with an impossible workload, little sleep, and freezing weather. I like where I'm at. I like all the little moments that make up life. Life itself is grace.

You will be SO happy again.

Fear not, for I have redeemed you: I have called you by name and you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overwhelm you; and when you walk through water you will not be burned; and the flames shall not consume you. Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you, I give men in return for you, peoples in exchange for your life. You are the evidence of who I am.

Who can unmake what I have made?

[Isaiah 43]

Pinned to the Cross.

This semester has been one long conversation about what strength really is. I am one small part of an endearingly loud, stubborn, opinionated family. I am one of five self-reliant daughters. I've buffaloed my way through many situations. I've proven resilient through a lot of pain. I am by no means weak. Yet for some reasons it has always bothered me when people call me strong, sometimes even the strongest person they know. Because, in the depths of my heart, I've always questioned whether what I have is really strength of character, or strength of personality. Am I strong or am I just too proud to give up?

That question has come into focus since I got to college. I go to a very conservative, very classical, very traditional school where father knows best and intellectual arrogance is not allowed. Suddenly I have had to reckon with boys who want to be men instead of just drink every weekend. These are boys who won't repeat dirty jokes to me even though they know I'd laugh at them. These are boys who open doors for me even though they've seen me take people out in every game we've ever played. These are boys who just carried me from the Union to my dorm because I sprained my ankle.

Please understand: I am not good at letting people help me. Next to God Himself, my family has always been my #1 support system. We were taught (and rightly) from an early age to have low expectations when it comes to people. Yet I now find myself surrounded by boys who hold themselves to higher standards than I have ever held anyone to in my entire life.

I came back from my little venture home over Thanksgiving feeling very raw. "Like a sea urchin," as I told Shannon. Rough around the edges. A little weathered. A little weary. Spiny. Taken off guard. Maybe even a little betrayed. I found myself being very self-conscious around these dear souls, worried that they would notice how sea urchin-y my heart is right now.

And God did the thing He does best: He brought me to my knees.

Literally.

This morning I made myself a piece of artwork as a reminder. It's a girl who looks a lot like me facing the water. At the top it says in really small writing: "who do you think you are?" And on the side it says: "BE STRONG ENOUGH TO LET PEOPLE HELP YOU."

I know that I can trust God with my sea urchin-y heart. And I know now that I can trust Jack, Eric, and Ben to carry me, humiliating as it is, whenever and wherever I need it just because they don't want me to get hurt. So I'm beginning to wonder... If I can trust them with my that, maybe I can trust them with my little spiny heart too.

Confession. (I love Scatteredtrees.)

Jesus, help me now: I'm writing songs that I didn't plan to write until I conquered 22... or maybe 23. I bring these to You now with hopes to sort them out somehow with words now placed into a melody. (You know exactly what I mean.)

So I'll drown desire for I musn't lose composure. I won't stoke the fire because You're my only resolution.

Accept God's grace.

Take the time to start anew
Maybe it's in front of you.
Take the time to walk down your street
Heaven knows who you might meet.
Take the time to be okay
And laugh a bit along the way.
You could take me for a ride
We could just drive all day.

And we could breathe again, step outside our front door, and gaze upon the stars, and know we're not alone.

So run into the fields and scream louder than you can.
It's good to be alive and breathing air again. I want my life to be marked by grace, and wonder, and resilience, and joy.

I want to live free.

Hello there, December.

At 7:30 this morning, I was already studying in the library. I let all my books and papers and pens and things scatter over the table. It was wonderful. Classes were fine, nothing exciting. Every time I walked outside the blue sky and the cold, COLD December wind shattered all lingering sleepiness. Like Shannon says every three-and-a-half minutes nowadays: Winter makes you feel so alive.

I spent yesterday afternoon making little art projects for my friends to encourage and inspire them during these stressful weeks. It was a good (long) study break, and I enjoyed crafting visual artwork from dozens of conversations and prayers sessions. Shannon and I are already planning large-scale art projects for next semester.

Of course, Eric and I spent nearly a half hour this morning talking about how we would decorate Hillsdale's campus if given the opportunity. Garlands, trees, wreaths, lights, candles, bows, paper chains, tinsel, ornaments, scented candles, paper snowflakes... If only! But it's true: the lobby in my dorm looks like Christmas morning.

Tonight I'm FINALLY having a dinner date with Autumn, one of my favorite girls on campus, and then bringing blankets and a hot pot into the library to have a paper-writing session with Jack and Eric.

Eric:

Jack:

Hopefully the Avett Brothers will make an appearance too: I like my little campus and my big-hearted friends. It's good to be back.

Keane & Kristkindlmart.

"I don't want to be adored,
Don't want to be first in line
Or make myself heard.
I'd like to bring a little light
To shine a light on your life
To make you feel loved

Will you see me in the end
Or is it just a waste of time
Trying to be your friend?
Just shine, shine, shine
Shine a little light
Shine a light on my life.
Warm me up again.

...Say a word or two to brighten my day." :)

Ready or not.

I have 2 more weeks of classes before FINALS, and then, finally: Christmas.

I just got back from a Christmas-infused Starbucks date with this one... (Skim pumpkin spice latte for me, peppermint mocha for her.)
Now: I think I'm ready for these next 3 weeks. I'm readying my mind for the 4 cumulative finals that are staring me down. (Cross your fingers.)

I'm readying my heart for caroling in Howard while Travis plays the piano, wearing mittens to classes, trudging through the snow, watching Christmas movies on weekends, listening to Josh Groban's Christmas album non-stop, spending Christmas Day with these two...
And I'm readying my heart for the coming of Christ. I'm ready to celebrate Advent. I'm ready to put this uncertainty behind me and get in on the joy of Christmastime.

Caution: Life moves fast.

Tell me when you hear my heart stop.

I'm in Chicago listening to Lykke Li and expressing my thoughts through Wordle:
(There’s a possibility that all that I had was all I'm going to get.
There’s a possibility that all I'm going to get is gone with your step.

So tell me when you hear my heart stop.
You’re the only who knows.
Tell me when you hear the silence.
There’s a possibility I wouldn’t know.

Know that when you leave,
By blood and by mean you walk like a thief.
By blood and by mean I fall when you leave.

So tell me when my sigh is over.
You’re the reason why I’m close.
Tell me when you hear me falling.
There's a possibility it wouldn’t show.)

What does this mean? I'm not quite sure yet. But despite that familiar aching loss, I'm feeling safe in the knowledge that God is good.

Give thanks, O weary hearts.

I'm thankful for:
Shannon Odell.
Black coffee.
Art.
Mary Wiggins.
Cozy sweaters.
My western heritage reader.
Chocolate milk.
Empty practice rooms.
Eric DeMeuse.
My amazing roommate.
Studying next to windows.
Philosophy with Schlueter next semester.
Theological discussions with AOD.
Taylor Gage's hugs.
Travis Lacy.
Ben Maddock.
Dr. Stewart's yellow couch.
iChatting with my little sisters.
Shelby Kittleson.
Jack Hummel.
Upper Left.
Anna Wilke.
A new perspective.
Christ my Redeemer.
A holy God worthy of our praise even if He didn't save us.
HOME.

This is grace: an invitation to be beautiful.

The disconnect.

Sometimes I get caught in the disconnect. That's when I throw my heart at the one Absolute.
"Trust in the Lord with all your might."

Tuesdays.

Aren't my favorite days.

So tomorrow, this is going to be on my heart:

Leap.

Row away, row
O'er the waters so blue
Like a feather we'll float
In our gum-tree canoe.

Today is the one-year anniversary of the day I found out I don't have cancer. One year today. And I couldn't be happier.

Happier about being alive for this:


Or this:


Or this:


Or this:


But especially this:


Tonight, I'm just happy to be alive.

Hello, wide world.

I love it.

Blessed by a bad day.

Today was a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

It was raining when I woke up.
The apple that I had at breakfast was icky.
I forgot to bring my Spanish homework to class.
I literally walked into my favorite professor and mumbled an apology, only realizing later who it was.
I got a little bit discouraged and intimidated by calculus. (I study so much and memorize so much, and then on tests I make THE stupidest mistakes.)
I accidentally fell asleep when I had wanted to go for a run.
I have a headache.
I'm arguing with a friend.
Deadlines are looming.

But, from the beginning, this day had nothing to do with me. Today had nothing to do with how I was feeling, how well I performed, how well I enjoyed it, how satisfied I am at the end of it. It does not. God loved me as much today as He did yesterday! And tomorrow He'll love me just as much. Even when I don't feel it, even when I don't want to admit it, God is worthy of my wholehearted praise even on the bad days.

So for now: I'll put on my favorite sweater, make chai tea in my favorite .:yellow:. mug, turn on some Whitley, pray for my friend Jack as he crams for a test, get some instruction from some saints on loving my friend Anna better, talk to my roommate Sarah about her day, do a little yoga, and try to remind myself who I belong to.

Who I belong to.
Who I'm living for.
Who loves me more than anyone.

Even on days like today.

Be kinder than necessary.

This week I've just been overwhelmed by the weight and beauty and disconnectedness of this mass of souls with whom I'm living here. I want to love them as I ought.

Sometimes love is:
A full pot of strong coffee.
Making paper snowflakes.
Post-it notes on a window.
Sharing a secret study place with a friend.
Prayer 3 minutes before you go up to speak.
A pinky swear.
Your favorite photographs.
An oversized coloring book.
Breakfast at 2 in the morning.
Asking "You okay?" when you know they're probably not.
Cereal.

Be kinder than necessary.
For everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

"Do you believe in Providence?"

Every day, Hillsdale is becoming more and more of an adventure. Getting to know and getting close to the people here has been one of the best parts of the past 9 weeks. Last night Mary and I talked for a long time about who we want to be in 4 years. We talked about what we want to look like, what we want our college careers to look like, what we want our relationships to look like. We thought about our friends, and how little we know them now, and how much we'll love them in 4 years. We don't love each other yet, but we will. Mary and I sometimes get impatient about that, but I reminded us both that love is patient. There are so many conversations, road trips, late-night food runs, all-nighters, struggles, prayer sessions, jam sessions, shopping trips, runs, long walks, favors, arguments, introductions, confrontations, interventions, break-ups, misunderstandings, reconciliations, apologies, questions, and discoveries between us and the brotherhood we'll have by the time we graduate.

So I thank God for those little moments with people where I stop and catch my breath and laugh a little bit and think "Oh friend, if you can believe it, one day I will know you so well and hold you so dear."


Last night gave me one of those moments.

I ended up talking and praying with a friend of mine about some heavy stuff until 2AM. We said "Amen" and he rested his head on the table and asked: "Do you believe in Providence?"

I leaned back and thought and answered: "Not before I came to Hillsdale, I didn't."

"Yeah," he said. "Is it just coincidence that we both have tests tomorrow that we had to study for tonight? Or that we both hate Taylor Swift so we sat at a separate table from everyone else and talked about theology? Or how about the fact that today's mass in the Magnificat told you the one thing you needed to hear? Interesting stuff, huh?"

And I don't know if God really did perfectly orchestrate those details, or else maybe He just was very intentional about giving my sincere, wise, prayerful brother a heart for me and my struggles. Either way, I honestly do believe that God had a hand in last night. Oh friend, if you can believe it, God does work all things together for our good and His glory.

Preparation

Usually it just hits me out of nowhere: "This is not where I want to be." That doesn't mean that I don't enjoy being here, but if I let myself think about it long enough it does start to frustrate me that I of all people am here of all places. I love Hillsdale's mission statement and its purpose and its staff: Hillsdale as an abstract. Yet, at the same time, Hillsdale in practice so often goes across the grain of who I am. That's not a criticism or a complaint; it's just a fact.

Sometimes I can't wait for grad school. A school so huge you get dizzy looking at the maps. A school so famous people cower at your resume. A school so prestigious, so historic, so busy, that I'll get nostalgic for my teensy-weensy undergraduate college. I can't wait to take classes that plumb the intricate depths of political science and economics. I get excited about writing papers with theses so specific that "what's your paper about?" becomes food for an entire dinner conversation. I get excited about being a scholar, not just a student. I get excited about digging into my field of study. I get excited about internships, real-world jobs, and new experiences where I doubt my ability. I get excited about awkward transition-to-adulthood moments where I excuse myself from important meetings to call my mom and ask her advice on what to do. I get excited about paying my own rent, even if I can't always afford it, so that I actually feel like a real member of society instead of an 18-year-old with a college dean for babysitter.

Adults tell me that the 4 years of undergraduate education were the best years of their life. I consider that a logical impossibility because undergraduate education is not real life. Freshman drama, free t-shirts, frat parties, parent-professor conferences... this is no where near what I know of real life.

But here is the thing. I am convinced that I am here for a purpose. And yes, I am going to struggle with frustration, discouragement, restlessness, indignation, and outright anger for the next 4 years. I will. But there are great professors here who refuse to let me coast through my default logical arguments. There are professors here who tear down my best work and make me work harder than I'd ever thought I'd have to. And there are PEOPLE here who pray for me. I told a friend of mine last night that I'm just. not. used to this: so many people are consistently praying for me, and praying with me, and keeping me accountable, and loving me. He leaned against my shoulder and looked me in the eye and said "Well get used to it." I'm going to go out to live fully, and learn to the best of my ability, and pursue, and invest, all with the hope that I will reap a harvest at the end.

Through God's grace and by God's will, I study to change the world.

To what end? For whose sake?

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecution, and calamities; For when I am weak, then I am strong." -2 Cor. 12:9-10

Maybe Christians are supposed to be really bad philanthropists. Perhaps we are supposed to only give what we are able, give it joyfully, and then, with joy and a sense of relief, let God take over. Yes, we are supposed to suffer for the cause of Christ, but that does not mean that we need to be crucified too. Suffering for the cause of Christ and suffering for the sins of man are very different things. The first is faith, the second is pride.

I need to repent when I start thinking I can save the world. I need to repent when I start thinking it's my responsibility to direct the pursuits of the people around me.

I can do nothing.
But God has already done everything.

Listen. [Repeat.]

I've been listening to this song on repeat for the past 41 hours. It goes like this:

I can tell by your eyes you're not getting any sleep
And you try to rise above but feel you're sinking in too deep.

But I believe you'll outlive this pain in your heart
And you'll gain such a strength from what is tearing you apart.

And when some time has passed us, when the story can be told,
It will mirror the strength and the courage in your soul.

And for 41 hours, I've been trying to believe it.

In all things, God is love.

Blow me a kiss and I'll be happy the rest of my life.

Cereal Monday is heaven-sent. I say this in part because the tradition was my idea. It goes like this: every Monday, Shannon and I bring a different box of cereal (if we remember) to Simpson and sit in the lobby with our bro Travis (cinna-mon) and...

We. Eat. Cereal. If other Simpson residents ask us about it, we invite them to eat cereal with us. (Oh, your roommate has Frosted Flakes? Go get them! Sharing is caring, after all.)

I'm crossing my fingers that Cereal Monday will become a Simpson legend. I'm crossing my fingers that other Simpson boys will get wind of the tradition and maybe start bringing some cereal of their own to share (Yes, I'm talking to YOU). And I'm praying that, even through these silly habitual times of fellowship, we are building strong relationships.

On that note, I'm very thankful for today. Lately I've been discouraged about relationships here on this campus. There is no easy solution to the problems I have dealt with, but today was a little light that I needed desperately. So I'm thankful for today. I'm thankful for puns, for surprises-for-no-reason, for coloring books, for inside jokes, for man-hugs, for our friend Jack Attack and his perfect sense of humor, for nicknames, for Laura Golden, for a box of 120 crayons, for music, for intramural football games, for blue skies, for Applejacks and 0% milk, for photographs and the creative souls who take them, and most of all for grace shown through the simplest things.

Chicago is 196.19 miles too far away.

Today all I want is to wear a yellow cardigan and drink a pumpkin spice latte and people-watch on Michigan Avenue.

Gimme

Please indulge me for 2 seconds in a little fit of selfishness. There are so many things I took for granted while I was growing up in Chicago, which means: there are SO many things that I miss, even sometimes ache for now. So here it is:

gyros
African-Americans
Mexican-Americans
Asian-Americans
non-Americans
non-Anglo Saxons
rap music
those sick drummers who always play at Millennium Station
Starbucks
Thai food
commuters
cinnamon-sugar toast (and toast in general... why can I not find toast on this campus?)
REAL pizza (i.e. Chicago-style pizza)

The End.

Let x = why?

Why do chocolate chip pancakes taste so much better at midnight than at any other time of the day?

Two muffins are sitting in an oven.

The first muffin says: "Man, it's getting hot in here."
The second muffin looks at the first muffin and screams: "AHH! You're a talking muffin!"


Fourteen years later, jokes like these still crack me up.

I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly.

Today, do yourself a huge favor and check out the band Owl City. Check out their songs. Check out their music videos. Check out their lyrics. Even, if you're brave, check out their Twitter.

They're just pure happy.

So run into the fields; scream louder than you can.

All this classroom work tends to numb the soul. Sometimes I catch myself walking from classroom to library, or library to union, or union to dorm completely engrossed in my mental to-do list. It's not wrong that I'm focusing on academics. After all, that's what I'm here for. It's okay that I'm here in the present. But sometimes it's good just to be a dreamer for a while.

It's especially good to dream about things like honeycrisp apples, some new cute rainboots, living in a tiny apartment in the heart of a city somewhere someday, and everything I'll do when I'm home tomorrow. Mostly I'm preoccupied with the fact that winter is fast approaching, and that means: hot cocoa, twinkle lights, fir trees, colorful scarves, pumpkin-flavored everything, carols, candles, and non-stop Christmas music for 2 straight months. Can't wait.